Nurtured by the Sycamore
by Memory in Crimson
Summary: She was the sycamore after Ra had beaten him mercilessly, shielding him from the god's wrath. She eased his brow of anxiety and made his heavy heart much lighter. (A short story featuring Priestess Isis)


"Nurtured by the Sycamore"

She was the sycamore when the day had come upon him like the brutal rays of Ra; the anniversary of his beginning down a dark path. Anxiety no longer beaded his brow like it had the night of the dark deed or like the first year after or the second year and so so, so forth. But he became very depressed, and no one asked questions. Many people just left him alone, and already being ignorant, they preferred to never know.

Isis had never seen the High Priest Akhenaden depressed. Calm and slow to anger, though sometimes becoming most frustrated, his quiet mood unsettled the young priestess.

So she came to him, a jug of thrice-good wine in hand and good spirits in her heart. She found him meditating somberly and asked no questions except if he would like to have drink.

Normally he would decline all company, but she was new. She was as ignorant as everyone else as to why he fell into this dark mood this time of year, and she did not know that no one came near him outside of court.

"Just this once," he replied as he held out his hand to receive his cup.

What a new and needed ritual?

Isis burned with 'why'; he saw it shimmering in her Nile-blue eyes. Perhaps she was clever like her namesake, trying to trick him into giving up information like the goddess had of Ra? He drank carefully and was not feeling more suspicious yet.

"You know," she said, stroking the cup like prayer beads, "I hate to see anyone depressed, especially when I know that one is not prone to dark moods."

After he sipped, he said, "What makes you think I am not prone to dark moods?"

Isis tipped her head. "My lord, I am accustomed to seeing you deep in thought but not to the point of _sadness_. If I could dance like Hathor and chase your sorrows away thereby, then I would."

Then she smiled and said, "Sadly, my rhythm is poor, and I am much too…"

"Too what?" he asked after he sipped.

Embarrassment painted her face. "I am too… _top-heavy_."

The High Priest nearly spat out his wine with his uproarious laughter. His jubilant happiness was as strange as his sadness but indeed, a much better sight to Isis.

So she provided drink, and he drank well. She never asked whence his sorrow came, and he never made any hint of it. They exchanged humorous trivialities until Akhenaden became lazy with relaxation, reclining on the reed mat, resting his head upon his hand until Isis' lap replaced it.

As she tenderly stroked his brow, she marked, "My lord, of all the men in the world, I feel safest around you. You have never given me cause to worry, except for your own health, and I am glad to see you glad again."

"Oh tsk!" he said with a dismissive wave, but she caught his hand and replied:

"I speak verily. With His Majesty included, you are one of very few elders whom I trust. You know my tale, of when I dwelt in the temple, how hungry old dogs gazed upon me."

Then she kissed his hand and smiled upon him. "Thank you always for being good company."

The High Priest tensed, and a red hue painted his face. He sat up quickly and stared at her, and she became wide-eyed. What had she done? Was he not as good as all she had described? Then he glanced at his kissed hand - just a flicker of a glance - but it told her enough, and she laughed gaily.

"My poor lord!" she said, and she kissed him again upon his cheek. He stiffened again and stared again until her laughter settled. Then he leaned forward as if to touch her lips but instead touched just their foreheads together.

"You are good to me, Sister Isis. You are good to all. Always stay good, Sister, as a good as the sycamore shade on a summer's day."

Isis smiled softly as their fingers twined upon the mat beneath them.

"Forever, my lord, forever."

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The writer does not own YuGiOh and reaps no monetary rewards for this story.


End file.
